Horses Over Head
by thetardis.and.stars
Summary: The brothers set out on another journey to see what's going on with these mysterious "accidental" deaths. Although this journey may have more in store for Sam than he can handle after their last adventure...
1. Chapter 1

_"__Sam…"_

_Dean? Go away… Can't you see I'm trying to sleep…_

_"__Sam, wake up Sammy…"_

_Dean please, I'm so tired…_

_"__Sammy! You gotta wake up Sammy!"_

_No, I don't Dean… Can't you see? I just want to stay here… I don't have to run away here…_

*13 Days Ago*

"So remind me again what the heck we're heading into this time?"

Sighing, I pull out a sheet of worn paper with a newspaper clipping attached to it. I roll my eyes as I realize this will be the fifth time in one hundred miles I've told him all of this.

"Ok, so there has been a pattern of strange deaths in Meadow Vale, Kentucky. One person every twenty-four years has been found trampled by a horse, so all of the deaths have been ruled as accidents. However, the pattern suggests something else, especially since it seems the victim is always a young lady, around twenty-seven, with brown hair and green eyes."

"Wow, that's pretty specific, even for a spirit." Dean says for the fifth time. I am starting to think he's either really bored, or really trying to figure this out before we even get there.

"Yeah, but at least we already know what we're going into. Oh and guess what's coming up this week?" I decide to throw a new bit of information at him, even though I'm sure he has already figured it out.

"The next cycle in the pattern is coming up soon?" He replies, never taking his eyes off of the road.

"That it is. So that means we have to get this job done, and quick. We only get one chance here." I shuffle through the folder in my lap, putting everything back in its place before turning to stare out the window.

"You couldn't find anything that would have given us a lead, right?" Dean asks, apparently hoping my answer is going to change.

"No, apparently whatever event that happened to set this off, happened before they really kept track of accidental deaths." I hear him sigh and know that he's disappointed, but I can't let it get to me. It's not my fault that this goes so far back, the trail disappears. "Maybe once we get there, I can find something in the archives at the library." I tell him, hoping to cheer him up a little bit.

When he doesn't reply, I continue to stare out of the window, lost in my own thoughts. Well, actually trying _not_ to get lost in my own thoughts, because I know where they will take me and I just don't want to go back there.

Dean leaves me alone for a few miles, singing along to the songs on the radio, or complaining when it isn't playing anything good. Hands drumming on the steering wheel, he takes us along the long winding roads, where we hardly pass anyone. I contemplate taking a nap, to get away from the endless forests that seem to stretch out forever. Deciding that a nap would only lead to bad things, I resign myself to staring at endless forests for the next few hours.

"Sammy?" Dean starts.

"Don't. You already know what I'm going to say, and I know you've been watching me for the past hour. Just don't." I snap at him before he can say anything else.

"I'm worried about you Sam." He tells me anyways. "You haven't really been the same since…" he trails off, knowing I know where he's going with that thought.

"Yeah, well, how would you feel watching me die every day for at _least_ a hundred days? Oh and not being able to do a _damn thing about it._" I don't mean to be angry with him, I really don't. He has no idea what I went through… I still can't bring myself to tell him about what happened on Wednesday… Instead, I just keep dragging him around the country to places I already visited and took care of things. Surprisingly, many of them still exist, even thought that part of my timeline was rewritten. Guess not everything got rewritten.

The only problem is that deadline that is still looming over both of our heads…

"Sam, you're my brother, and I can tell when something is bothering you. I just wish you would let me help you instead of dealing with this on your own." He keeps trying, and I know he means well, but how do you explain something like that to someone?

"I'll be fine Dean, really. I just want to forget all of it and just move on." I turn to look at him, remembering how it was only a few weeks ago that I was the one driving, all by myself, around this god forsaken country. "Please Dean, I just can't talk about it."

Dean looks like he's going to say something, the way he's scrunching up his face, I can tell he's trying to think of something to say that won't make me mad. I feel bad, I really do. All that crap I gave him about talking about how he felt after the whole ordeal with dad and now I won't do the same for him when he asks. Though he would never say that, not Dean.

I resist the urge to grab his shoulder, and try to reassure him that everything will be fine, in its own time, but I can't even tell myself that. The nightmares, the sleepless nights, the fear of waking up and it being Tuesday or Wednesday… It's just not something that will go away anytime soon. Not to mention all the memories I have of that time without him. None of that is going anywhere, so how can I tell him everything is going to be ok with me?

After a few miles of silence, Dean reaches for the knob on the radio, fiddling with it until he finds a new station to listen to.

"Sammy please," He startles me with the tone of his voice and the way he pleads. "I just want to help you."

"I know you do Dean," I reply, knowing there's no way he could ever understand. "I know I probably seem like a complete hypocrite as well. Talking about it just isn't going to help though."

"Alright Sammy, but please," He looks away from the road, trying to make his point. "Just please remember I'm here for you, no matter what's going on."

My unspoken reply fills the car with a deafening silence as Dean turns back to looking at the long stretch of road before us.

After a couple more hours of driving, we finally arrive in a little town. Meadow Vale, Kentucky. Less than a thousand people, normal looking enough, and a slew of mysterious horse trampling's.

"Hey, look!" Dean exclaims, pointing across the intersection. "White Castle! Late night runs for sliders and fries, here we come." The big goofy grin on his face, he continues driving around trying to find a motel.

"Wonder what crazy thing we're going to find this time." Dean chuckles as he pulls in to the parking lot of what looks like a typical motel.

The funny thing about living out of various motels across the country is you learn that many of them are still stuck somewhere between the 50's and 80's when it comes to their décor. Either that or they look like a Jetson's episode. Although I will have to say, the mirror thing on the ceiling is getting really old. Who came up with that idea anyways?

"Dude, some innocent girl is about to be trampled in two days unless we stop it from happening, and you're wondering about a motel room?" I ask, even though I myself feel a little curious as well.

"Yeah, I've actually been thinking of starting a collection." He gives me one of his shit-eating grins as he puts the car in park. "You know, like that chick from Hollywood? Just instead of Polaroids of the crew, it would be Polaroids of America's strangest motels." Laughing, he opens his door and gets out of the car, the purr of the engine shutting off as he does. "Seriously though, as long as it doesn't have mirrors on the ceiling again, I'll be a happy camper.

"I know what you mean." I reply as he starts walking away. Dean heads over to the main office to book our room as I grab the duffel bags and backpacks from the back seat. We've stopped going to book the room together, fed up of people assuming we're gay, so we usually take turns booking and lugging everything around. Setting the bags on the ground, I lean on the front of the car in my usual place and wait for him to get back.

These are the times I have started to hate the most: the ones where I am either asleep, or I am sitting by myself, and have absolutely nothing to do. Except think, which I've been trying to stay away from. All it does is being back bad memories…


	2. Chapter 2

_Wow, thanks for all the views! Didn't think it would be that popular lol. Reviews are definitely appreciated, even if they just point out spelling, grammar, or any other issues. Hope you enjoy this next chapter!_

* * *

_"Sammy, are you ever going to wake up?"_

_Why should I? It's nice here._

_"We have hunts to do. I need your help. I'm not as good without you."_

_Screw hunting. I'm tired of it. When has it ever done us any good?_

_"Please Sammy. I'm worried, Bobby's worried, hell even Ellen and Jo have stopped by once."_

_So what?_

_"Sammy…I need you Sammy…"_

*12 days ago*

"Did we really have to wear the monkey suits to go see a farmer? Don't you know that farm people never freaking trust the government?" Dean yelled at me from the bathroom, where he was attempting to tie his tie.

"Oh will you just get out here and let me tie that for you?" I holler at him as I finish tying mine. Dean stomps out, white shirt rolled up to his elbows as per usual. "You know, you're going to have to learn to tie one of these eventually."

"Oh yeah, tying a tie will come in real handy when I'm in the pit." Dean scoffs as I finish his tie and stomps back to the bathroom to grab his coat. Sighing, I turn and grab my FBI ID and my gun, trying to be ready for everything. I almost reach for my jacket to grab my flask out but decide against it.

Once we're both ready, we hop in the car and start driving west to the farm where all the trampling's have been happening. After a few minutes, we leave the small town and become surrounded by rolling hills and a calm country atmosphere. We roll the windows down and start blasting one of the many cassettes Dean has laying around in the car, occasionally singing along horribly. After a half hour drive, we finally reach the road that the farm is on.

"Smells like horse shit out here." Dean bitches over the sound of the radio.

"Well what do you expect, this is horse country." I holler back at him, laughing at his complaining.

"Yeah well, the constant smell of blood, sulfur, and dead bodies is so much better than the smell of shit." Furrowing his brow, he starts paying attention to the few and far between mailboxes we pass, looking for the address we need.

"You know we live strange lives when what you just said makes complete sense." I reply, looking on the other side of the road for the right address.

"So what was the name of the farm again?" Dean reaches for the radio knob, turning down the music finally so we can talk without shouting at each other.

"Uhh… 'Horses Over Head Stables'. Apparently they take in a lot of horses that are from shelters. Ones people don't want usually because they're older or lame." I read from the printout in my lap I got off of their website.

"Huh, sound like nice people. Too bad things aren't always so nice for them." Dean replies, suddenly sounding a lot more caring about the case. "Something tells me we can stop looking at mailboxes though," Dean points out the window to a giant sign up ahead with angel wings carved into it. "Seems like something that would go along with horses being 'overhead'"

Turning onto the long driveway, we pass under the sign with the name of the farm on it. On both sides of the driveway – which is more like its own road – there are numerous areas that look like pastures. The farther along we drive, the smaller they seem to get and we even start to see a few horses grazing in them, or standing under some of the trees.

"Hey Sammy -?"

"Look, that must be the house." I point out before Dean can finish his sentence. I feel like an ass for doing it, but I really just want to get this case done.

Sighing, Dean pulls up to the farm house, looking to see if there is anyone around. He turns the car off and I climb out of the car. Straightening my jacket, I walk around the front of the car to wear Dean is. I glimpse him subtly slip his gun into the back of his pants before closing his door, keys jingling softly as he slides them into his pocket.

"Well I guess the one good thing about this job is we don't have to go hunt people down. Farm has been in the same family for at least the last two deaths." Dean grumbles as we head over to the porch.

"Yeah, but that doesn't mean that the last two killings were related to these people, which rules out family curse." Climbing up the baby blue stairs, I glance over my shoulder to check for anyone behind us as Dean knocks on the door.

"Oh hey, what's the name?" Dean asks as we hear someone walking down the stairs.

"Amelia Gallagher," I tell him.

"Can I help you?" A voice asks from the now open door.

"Are you Amelia Gallagher?" Dean asks, already reaching into his pocket.

"Yes and let me guess, FBI." Sighing, Amelia reaches up to tuck her brown hair behind her ears. "Look, I don't know why you guys feel the need to keep checking on my farm like I'm running some illegal horse meat business out of my backyard." Even though you can clearly tell she's angry, she makes no move to close the door.

"No, actually I think you have us confused with someone else," I calmly state, reaching in my coat for my badge. "We just want to ask you a few questions about the history of the farm, nothing more." Flipping my badge open, I hold it towards her so she can read it clearly. "I'm agent Holt and this is my partner, agent Cleary."

"We actually think that what you are doing here is really amazing." Dean adds, holding up his own badge. "Especially with me being from a ranch in Texas, I know how horses tend to be treated sometimes, so it's nice to see someone trying to make a change."

I chuckle to myself at Dean's story, remembering one time when he actually did get to ride a horse. I was too scared, but Dean looked right at home on top of the animal. Hearing what Dean says, Amelia seems to relax a little and opens the door all the way.

"Well if you aren't here to cause me any trouble, I guess I can talk to you two for a bit." Her green eyes seem to pierce right through us as she starts to walk out the door. We move out of her way and follow her across the wide deck to a set of chairs that are arranged nearby. "I won't be able to tell you much," she explains, lowering herself into one of the rocking chairs. "My family hasn't lived on this ranch for very long, but I'll tell you what I can. Although, I'm sure I already have an idea as to what you're going to ask." She blinks, and then turns to look out over the front yard, staring off at one of the pastures that has a few older looking horses in it. "This is about my mother, isn't it?"


End file.
